Set the Dark on Fire

by Jill Sorenson

  Dylan relaxed his stance, mollified to have been told he was right and promoted to man status. Somehow, Luke had also made Shay seem innocent of any wrongdoing, which they both knew wasn’t true. She understood very well what he’d been thinking, and hadn’t been above taunting him with a glimpse of what he’d passed up.

  Shay felt her cheeks burn. Having her brother walk in while she was flaunting herself in front of Luke was so embarrassing! What had gotten into her?

  “You play?” Luke asked, nodding at Dylan’s bas ketball.

  Dylan shrugged, reassessing Luke as a fellow baller. “Yeah. You?”

  “All four years at UNLV.”

  Dylan’s face lit up. “Really? They have a good team. Were you first string?”

  “Nah. Third.”

  “You see any court time?”

  “Nope.”

  Her brother nodded eagerly, impressed all the same, and they started talking about UNLV players, playoffs, and plays. It never failed to amaze her that Dylan seemed to remember every shot from every game he’d ever watched, but Luke was right there with him, discussing the merits of a three-pointer from a final eight over five years ago.

  It was the longest, and least contentious, conversation she’d seen Dylan have with an adult in ages. Watching his animated gestures and avid expression, Shay felt her heart twist. Dylan had known Luke five minutes and already connected with him better than her.

  Dangerously close to tears, she busied herself by dumping the tub over the edge of the patio and gathering up her supplies.

  “I still have to talk to you,” Luke said before she slipped away.

  She cleared her throat. “Fine. I just need to, um, get a drink of water.” Knowing she was being inhospitable, she left without offering Luke anything. Because a lively debate had ensued over Shaq’s abysmal free-throw, he probably didn’t notice.

  By the time Luke and Dylan returned from the wide world of sports, and gravitated back inside the house, Shay had pulled herself together. She’d also gathered a basket of clean laundry to fold. Propping it on one hip, she stood in the hall, waiting for them to move out of her way. Dylan was tall, but Luke was taller, broader of shoulder, and more heavily muscled. The two of them took up an uncomfortable amount of space.

  Shay gave her brother a pointed stare.

  “I guess I’ll hit the shower,” Dylan muttered, taking the hint. He turned to walk away then stopped short, seeming to remember his manners. “Nice meeting you, uh …”

  “Luke,” he said, shaking Dylan’s hand.

  Her little brother took off in his usual fashion, doing some air basketball moves down the hall before he disappeared from sight.

  Giving Luke a wide berth, Shay made a beeline for the living room couch. He remained standing while she sat and separated socks from T-shirts. After they heard the shower turn on, Luke said, “He seems like a good kid.”

  She nodded because it would be disloyal to disagree. But since the beginning of the school year, Dylan had been suspended for fighting and ordered to take conflict resolution classes for arguing with a teacher. He’d also been arrested twice, with charges ranging from destroying county property to being out after curfew.

  Her brother wasn’t a good kid. He was difficult, defiant, and absolutely brilliant. If he could get rid of the chip on his shoulder, he’d be a star, but his behavior had been getting worse for years, and Shay didn’t know how to help him.

  She’d failed him in so many ways.

  Not meeting Luke’s eyes, she folded one of her everyday bras, an athletic racer-back style with an A-cup, wishing he would say his piece and leave.

  “That lion,” he began. “He wasn’t the right one.”

  Her hands stilled. “What?”

  “Hamlet. He didn’t do it.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “How do you know?”

  “Tests at Davis came back negative for human issue.”

  “No,” she gasped, pressing her fist to her stomach. “That can’t be.”

  “The medical examiner said the lion who perpetrated the attack had a broken tooth. Hamlet didn’t. Right?”

  “I cleaned his teeth myself while he was under sedation a year ago,” she murmured. “At that time, they were all intact.”

  “We made a mistake.”

  “No,” she protested. “According to GPS, Hamlet was at the Graveyard.”

  “Yes, but Yesenia wasn’t killed there. How unusual would it be for a lion passing by to investigate a corpse? Perhaps he only got close enough to recognize the scent. The scientists who performed the autopsy said his stomach contents indicated he’d eaten recently.”

  She looked up at him, feeling bleak. “Then it was all for nothing. I killed him for nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and appeared to really mean it.

  Sadness for the loss closed in on her, blurring the edges of her vision. That goddamned “track and kill” policy! If she’d used a tranquilizer gun instead of a rifle, this would never have happened. She wouldn’t have another unnecessary death on her hands.

  “Shit,” she whispered, brushing her tears away angrily. She hated that he was seeing her like this. Every time she thought she’d shown him her worst, she sank a bit lower.

  “My top priority right now is public safety. I need to know if there’s another collared lion in the area, and I could use your expertise.”

  Her ingrained sense of responsibility took over, reaching out like a lifeline, giving her something to focus on besides grief. She twisted her hands together, thinking, and realized she was holding a pair of lacy thong panties. Shoving them back in the laundry pile, she hopped up from the couch and started pacing the living room. “Male lions are extremely territorial,” she said. “They don’t often cross paths.”

  “You’re sure it was a male?”

  “Relatively sure. The size of the claw marks indicated a very large lion. Males also tend to roam more. As far as GPS goes, no other collared lion was within fifty miles of Tenaja that night, according to the monitors.”

  “Are all of the lions in the area collared?”

  “No. GPS is expensive. And Dark Canyon is a wildlife corridor, so without tracks, finding the culprit may be difficult.”

  “What’s a wildlife corridor?”

  “Kind of like a natural highway. The canyon links the Santa Ana Mountains to the Anza-Borrego Desert, two vast habitats. Lots of animals use it to go back and forth.”

  He let out a frustrated breath. “So what do we do?”

  She stopped pacing and turned to him. “We set a trap.”

  7

  When Dylan got out of the shower, his sister was gone.

  No big surprise there.

  She was usually absent, working too many hours at Dark Canyon and hiking around the godforsaken wil derness all the time. That was fine by him. He didn’t need a babysitter. He’d been taking care of himself most of his life.

  At least she left a note. And her car. The old Subaru was still in the garage, so she must have gone with the sheriff.

  Luke seemed like an okay guy, but Dylan didn’t like the way he’d been staring at Shay when he walked in. Sure, he’d seen men check her out before. It happened all the time. Chad was particularly crude about it, but even he waited until her eyes were averted.

  There was nothing furtive, or polite, about the way the sheriff had been looking at her, and Dylan knew damned well he wasn’t thinking about work while he did it.

  Scowling, he examined the contents of the fridge. It was still empty. There wasn’t even any milk for cereal.

  Shay usually went grocery shopping during the weekends, and sometimes she made him breakfast on Sunday morning. Most days he fended for himself, but when she did cook, it was good. His stomach rumbled at the thought of buttermilk pancakes and sausage links.

  There were eggs, and even he knew how to scramble, so he heated up a frying pan and cracked about a half dozen into it, listening to the sizzle. He couldn’t
remember the last time he and Shay had eaten a meal together.

  Maybe after he left for college, she’d hook up with the sheriff and start a new family without him.

  He tried to convince himself that the idea didn’t bother him, but it did. Everybody knew she’d had an affair with Jesse Ryan, and that bothered him, too. Jesse had been stringing her along for years, two-timing her, his wife, and whoever else he had on the side.

  Why did women go for guys like that? Dylan couldn’t get any girls to notice him, but a shiftless dirtbag like Jesse Ryan had more chicks than he could handle.

  Shaking his head, he turned off the burner and took the entire pan of eggs over to the kitchen table, shoveling forkfuls directly into his mouth. Before he was finished, he heard the rumble of a souped-up car engine.

  Chad Pinter’s Chevy Nova.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, dumping the mostly empty pan in the sink. His knuckles were still bruised from their last meeting. Now he also had a crescent-shaped bite mark, compliments of Angel Martinez, between his thumb and his forefinger.

  Dylan enjoyed a brawl every now and again, but he’d had enough excitement this weekend. Besides, Chad outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, and probably wouldn’t be willing to let him off again so easily.

  He outlined his choices. Pretending he wasn’t home sounded good. Telling Chad to get bent sounded better. Opting for the middle road, he went ahead and answered the door when Chad knocked, hoping his muscle-bound friend hadn’t come for blood.

  When Dylan saw the purple half moon beneath Chad’s left eye, and the apologetic expression on his handsome face, he felt some of his anger fade.

  He also experienced a surge of pride, because Chad deserved the shiner, and damned if it wasn’t a good one. Although he wanted to gloat and grin, he just mumbled, “What’s up,” and jerked his chin toward the living room.

  Dylan sat on the couch. Chad took the only chair.

  “Is your sister home?” Chad asked.

  “No.”

  They usually listened to music or played video games when Chad came over, but Dylan made no move to turn on either. He was willing to hear Chad out, not to go on as though nothing had happened.

  Dylan also knew what he was risking. Chad was popular and influential; Dylan wasn’t. Chad could make his final months at Palomar High hell. Even so, Dylan waited in silence for him to speak, studying his wavy brown hair and broad shoulders, the well-arranged features and dark, thickly lashed eyes that made all the girls swoon.

  After some more fidgeting and procrastinating, Chad cleared his throat. “It got pretty crazy the other night.”

  Dylan leaned his head back against the couch, unimpressed. “Yeah.”

  “Look, dude, we both said some things we didn’t mean—”

  “I meant everything I said.”

  Chad appeared startled. He’d probably thought Dylan was going to roll over quicker than this. “Okay. Fine. I said some things I didn’t mean. About your mom.”

  Dylan felt a coil of rage unfurl inside him, and he was no longer interested in talking. One word about his mother, and his hand constricted into a fist.

  “You gave me a black eye,” Chad pointed out, obviously thinking they were even.

  “You left me and Angel out on the dunes,” Dylan countered in a cold voice. “Miles from town.”

  Chad couldn’t offer an excuse for that. Instead, he looked for a bright side. “Did she give you any play?”

  Dylan rose to his feet. “Get out.”

  Chad stood also, emitting a harsh laugh. “Are you seriously going to let a little trick like that come between us?”

  Dylan pressed his fist into the palm of his other hand in an attempt to keep it from flying toward Chad’s face. “Get. The fuck. Out.”

  Chad came closer, deliberately taunting him. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Know what?”

  “Angel is a cheap slut, dude. Why do you think I didn’t mind when Travis tried to get on her? She gives it up to anyone.”

  Dylan found himself searching Chad’s face for signs of deception, and saw none. “Like who?”

  He smiled a dark, humorless smile. “Me.”

  Dylan’s vision blurred with anger. He didn’t want to know any more details; he wanted to drag Chad out into the front yard and kick him until he vomited blood. “When?” he asked, trying to control his rage.

  “A couple months ago,” Chad said, reaching out to massage Dylan’s shoulder in a way that was hardly relaxing. “But don’t waste your time. She wasn’t any good.”

  Chad always bragged about his conquests, but he’d never said anything about Angel. Why? “You encouraged Travis,” Dylan said from between clenched teeth, knocking Chad’s hand away. “You told him to hold her down.”

  “She was loving every minute of it,” he boasted, no longer smiling.

  “No,” Dylan said with complete assurance. Angel may have been with Chad, at one point or another, but she hadn’t wanted Travis. She’d kicked and screamed and fought like a wildcat when he tried to force his mouth over hers.

  “Are you mad because I threw you both out of the car?” Chad asked softly, getting in his face. “Or because you never got your turn?”

  Dylan shoved him backward, his heart pounding with adrenaline and his muscles poised for action. When Chad didn’t tackle him, Dylan went to the front door. “You’re a pig and so is Travis,” he said, throwing it open. “Now get the fuck out.”

  Chad’s lips tightened, making him appear more like a petulant child than a boy on the cusp of manhood.

  “You’re nothing without me, bro. You’re like a ghost at Palomar High.”

  It was true, and the words stung. Dylan lifted his chin, refusing to let it show. “Have fun in summer school.” He may have been invisible, especially to girls, but Chad didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of passing Algebra without his help.

  Chad slammed his fist against the door, puncturing the cheap wood. Dylan waited for him to make the next move, his pulse racing with trepidation, but the hotheaded quarterback didn’t take the exchange any further.

  Swearing under his breath, he left.

  Dylan watched as the Nova roared to life, peeling out of the driveway and spitting gravel across the parched front lawn.

  Angel pulled the last load of laundry from the washing machine, humming an unnamed tune as she carried the basket outside into the morning sunshine.

  On a day like today, clothes dried faster on the line, which was good, because the dryer quit last week. It couldn’t keep up with her brothers, who’d never met a mud puddle they didn’t like, or her little sister, who loved to change clothes and play dress-up.

  Her dad had taken all of her siblings to the movie theater in Chula Vista, so Angel had several hours to herself, a rarity on a Sunday. After she finished the laundry, she knew she should try to get some studying done. Since Yoli started kindergarten, Angel had been taking correspondence classes to complete her GED. She was no whiz kid like Dylan Phillips, and with only two years of high school under her belt, she had a lot of catching up to do before she felt confident she could pass the equivalency exam.

  What she really wanted to do, rather than hit the books, was pull her acoustic guitar out of the closet and flesh out the melody that had been flirting with the back of her mind for the past few days. Enticed by the prospect of spending some quality time with her 12-string, she made haste as she hung up the sheets.

  In addition to trying on and discarding every item in her closet on a regular basis, Yoli had taken to wetting the bed lately.

  Angel smiled grimly around the clothespin in her mouth. She disliked the extra work, but appreciated the fact that she no longer shared a bed with her sister.

  When a shadow appeared on the other side of the sheet, showing the outline of a man, taller than her brothers or her father, she stumbled back a step. Her legs got tangled up with the laundry basket and she went down hard, landing on her
butt in the dirt.

  Dylan Phillips towered over her. The sun behind his head and the sudden tears in her eyes made it difficult for her to read his expression.

  “Did you fuck Chad Pinter?”

  A surge of anger replaced her fear. After a question like that, she didn’t need to see his eyes to know his mood. She glanced toward the house, wishing her father, and his shotgun, were home. “That’s none of your business,” she said, rising to her feet. He didn’t offer to help her up, and she was certain now that she’d made the right decision in spurning him.

  Of course, he took her response as an admission. “You—you said you weren’t looking for a boyfriend,” he sputtered.

  She dusted off her stinging backside. “I’m not.”

  “You said you wanted someone older,” he continued, incredulous. “He’s younger and more immature than I am!”

  “Yes,” she agreed, shuddering.

  Dylan closed the distance between them, taking her upper arms in his hands. His fingertips burned into her bare skin as his blue eyes searched hers. “Did he …” His throat worked convulsively. “Did he force you?”

  Her emotions welled up, too close to the surface. She felt the absurd longing to rest her head against his chest and cry. Denying herself, and him, she held her body stiff in his arms. “No,” she said, her tone bitter. “I knew what I was doing.”

  And she had.

  She’d known exactly what she was doing the night she accepted a ride from Chad, and she understood what he expected from her in return. He suggested they park at the Graveyard, and she accepted, knowing just what he wanted.

  He’d been taking sips from a pint-size bottle of whisky, and so had she, but neither of them were drunk. She wished she had been.

  It was Christmas, and Mamá hadn’t sent any gifts, or a single card, or bothered to make one simple phone call.

  Angel held herself together throughout the festivities, putting on a smile for her siblings, waiting until everyone else went to bed to call her mother. The conversation had been brief, but devastating. A baby wailed in the background. Angel’s new sister.